The Nomad
Bleached and broken bones
lie along the highway.
Sit in cars; stare out and smile
grisly memorials to the people
they used to be.
The Nomad walks on
past these calcified statues
from a time he'd rather forget.
He walks onwards, not looking back
only ever forwards.
He does not have a destination
He wanders and follows the road.
Each day of survival a bonus,
each night spent cold and alone
with only the wind and shadows.
He's watched this world destroy itself,
watched its people suffer and die.
He walks the endless immortal road
with sadness in his eyes
